


Hull to Nice

by Roadstergal



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Bets, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gay Bar, Gen, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a gay wedding charters MJN, Arthur is thrilled, and Douglas makes a bet.  Can be read as Martin/Douglas if you choose. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hull to Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kahvi for the beta.

"I'm all excited about this run, Skipper!" Arthur piped up cheerfully, practically bouncing on his toes in the back of the flight deck. "I'm so pleased to go somewhere nice for once!"

Martin cinched his belts, wishing, as usual, that there wasn't so much loose strap left at the end when he did so. He tried to tuck it away in a less obvious manner. "Somewhere nice?"

"Yeah! I mean, it says so, right on the flight plan!"

Douglas turned eyes that looked far more long-suffering than was strictly required onto what the manifest referred to as 'a particularly helpful passenger.' "Arthur, it says we're going to Nice."

"Up to late drinking, eh, Douglas? _Nice_." Arthur pronounced it particularly slowly, as if speaking to a child. "And a wedding, no less! But the passenger manifest is all blokes. Oh!" Arthur's eyes lit up. "I bet it's one of those... stag parties! Do you think there'll be a stripper?" Arthur seemed simultaneously eager and somewhat worried, as if the prospect of a naked women was exciting in concept, but he had an idea that the reality might be slightly terrifying.

Martin looked up from the hopeless tangle he had made trying to tuck away the loose ends of his belt. "It's a gay wedding, Arthur."

"If they need a stripper, we might finally have a use for your services," Douglas teased.

"Fantastic!" Arthur grinned, running from the flight deck.

Douglas stood. "I had better keep an eye on the little fellow in case he starts prancing about in his underwear for a pack of very highly-paying customers indeed, which might encourage them to take their custom elsewhere. Care to join me?"

"No, you go on ahead, I'll... check the systems..." Martin replied, trying to tug surreptitiously at his knotted belts.

"All tied up with business, I see? Well, if any of the lads get bored, I'm sure one or two of them have dreamt of exactly this." Douglas winked at Martin before heading out of the door.

* * *

It took Martin approximately twenty minutes to get his belts sorted; he probably would have been done sooner if Carolyn and Douglas had not poked their heads in to ask him questions, forcing him to act as if he were doing something else and had the situation entirely in control. He even made it a point to tell them, "I have the situation entirely in control," as he felt it added to his credibility.

He finally left his carefully un-knotted belts and proceeded to the cabin, which was - well, 'celebratory' was the only word. Approximately thirteen men were present, all ludicrously handsome, all jovial.

Carolyn grabbed the tannoy. "La... er, gentlemen... If you could keep your gaiety to the minimum required to fasten your seatbelts..."

Arthur prodded at Martin's side. Martin moved aside - entirely unnecessarily, as Arthur could see over his head perfectly well, but some dredges of pride still remained. "I so love weddings!" Arthur gushed. "Where's the groom?"

"Over there, in the tuxedo," Martin nodded in the general direction of the square-jawed olive-skinned man who had booked the flight with Carolyn.

"Where's the bride?"

"There is none, Arthur," Douglas replied, "that would defeat the purpose of a gay wedding."

"Where's the other groom?" Arthur asked, unperturbed.

"Over there, in the other tuxedo." Douglas replied.

Arthur's grin nearly split his face. "Brilliant!"

* * *

"We are now cruising at 30 000 feet, and I have turned off your Fasten Seatbelts sign. Feel free to move about the cabin, but for your own safety, keep your seatbelts fastened while seated."

"And at the end of the flight, please return your seatmate to his correct and upright position," Douglas purred.

"Douglas - that is _entirely_ unprofessional," Martin protested.

"Whereas flying a gay bacchanal to the south of France is widely regarded as the _height_ of professionalism."

"I say," Arthur blurted out, stumbling into the cabin. "these passengers are a right bunch of fun! Douglas, you really should consider this gay marriage thing! I mean, the regular ones haven't worked out so well for you...."

"Arthur, you really should consider taking one of those delightful pink toys the grooms have in their carry-on and jamming it into your mouth, sideways."

"I should just give up and be gay," Martin sighed, looking at the flight instruments, which were soothingly bereft of excitement. "I have no success with women, after all."

"Yes, that's a brilliant idea," Douglas replied. "The gay community is well-known for their absolute rejection of shallow judgments based on appearance. Why, open any magazine that caters to homosexual men, and you will find a veritable trove of lonely-hearts advertisements seeking mousy little ginger underachievers, nobody over five-foot-six need apply."

"Really?" Arthur piped up.

"No, not really, I was mocking Martin's delusion that his life-long dream of losing his virginity would be more easily achieved by appealing to the gay community."

"It's not fair, you know?" Martin barked, frustrated. "I mean, I'm not that bad looking! I mean, I'm not good-looking, and you have to look... downwards a bit, but still, we're not talking elephant-man, are we? And I'm a captain! Of a real airline!"

"Air _plane_ , perhaps. You _do_ have the advantage of often being in a hotel room when abroad, and not having to face the prospect of bringing your conquest back to a small attic and sharing a romantic Bic-lighter-lit ramen dinner..." Douglas trailed off, looking at Martin with a familiar and disturbing glow in his eyes. "Martin - would you be up for a bet?"

* * *

Martin carefully brushed specks of dust off of his pilot's jacket, his cap tucked smartly under one arm. "Now, the rules - you said full points for actually bringing someone back to my hotel room, partial points for transfer of a phone number or email address..."

"It has to be a phone number or email address that actually leads somewhere," Douglas interrupted, holding up one finger. "Directory Assistance or goaway-at-youdisgustme-dot-nut do not count.'

"Yes, yes, fair enough," Martin sighed, "but suppose I get... a cuddle, or a snog? That should count for some partial points?"

"Count it for as many partial points as you like, and we'll consider it full marks if a pack of winged porcines exit your posterior. The chances are about as good."

"Fine," Martin snapped, "fine." He took a deep breath, and pushed the door of the gay pub open.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Martin had a headache from the throbbing music. Three hours later, he did not have a headache anymore, and everyone around him looked absolutely fantastic.

"I'm a pilot," he told the man across form him, pointing at the bars on his shoulder with a finger that somehow refused to point in a steady and consistent fashion. "Of... a plane."

"Very nice, lovely, and what else do you do?" The man's eyes were starting to glaze in a way that Martin had come to find very familiar in the past three hours.

"I drive... a van." Martin nodded.

"That's nice. Just wait here a bit, would you?" the man with the bulging shoulder muscles replied, picking up his drink and walking off.

"He... won be back, willie," Martin said, despondently.

"It would appear not." Douglas had drunk nothing but seltzer and lime all night, protesting that the sight of Martin trying desperately to score with gay men in a tourist pub was plenty entertaining enough to keep him sober. "Better luck with the next one. Another drink?"

"Willit help?"

"It honestly can't hurt," Douglas replied, walking off to the bar.

Martin surveyed the dimly-lit room, given a certain romantic glow by the quantity of alcohol he had consumed. Unfortunately, this glow did not seem reciprocal, as the men he had corralled into speaking with him had invariably gone on to find someone more appealing to speak with.

"Martin." Douglas replied, sitting across from him and sliding another gin-and-tonic across the table, "a word of advice - which fortunately won't hurt my bet, I predict. You're trying too hard."

"Whu?"

"Look at you. The jacket, the hat, the desperate desire to impress people by being a pilot. Nobody gives a good toss in hell if you're a pilot. You either impress them with who you are, or you don't impress them at all." Douglas paused, looking at Martin critically. "Which is why I'm not worried."

"You... you're... not very nish," Martin sighed.

"I'm a very nice man, Martin. You're just so blasted hopeless that you drive me to frustration."

"I'm not going to pull tonight, am I," Martin sighed.

"No. No, you're not."

* * *

The pavement was laid out in a very interesting fashion, Martin noticed, and he tried to tap-dance a magical pattern on it. Douglas grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the way of a lamp-post that was, for some reason, leaping out from the street to attack Martin.

"You're very drunk, Martin."

"I'm perfectly... perfectly..." Martin frowned. He was perfectly something, wasn't he? Well, besides hopeless?

Douglas sighed. "Martin, just make it back to the hotel, would you?"

"What hotel?" Martin could honestly not remember the name. He reached into his pocket for his plastic key card, looking at it and wondering why he was staying at a place shaped like a pizza.

"Oh, for christ's sake," Douglas sighed, gripping Martin's upper arm firmly with one hand and the key card with the other.

He guided them both through the streets, a trip that was a pleasing blur of lights and jovial singing for Martin, despite Douglas telling him to _please_ shut the hell up. Eventually the air got warmer and smelled more like cleaning products; then, with a click and a snap, overly bright lights came on and Martin found himself propelled towards a bed. He fell onto it, the breath leaving his body with a _wumph_.

"Are you perfectly all right to undress yourself and get back in bed?" Douglas asked. He sighed at the vacant look that was all Martin could provide. "Fine, here..." Martin found himself rolled more thoroughly onto the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling with fascination as his shoes made their way off of his feet. The world whirled in a very disorienting fashion, and his jacket was gone; with his face smashed into the pillow, he felt something tug at his trousers, and they slid off of his body. With some more dizzy spinning of the world, his shirt was off, and he was only in his pants.

"See you tomorrow, Martin." With another click, the room turned blessedly dark and quiet. Martin closed his eyes, feeling the room's spin turn from sickening to rather pleasing and soothing, like the universe was rocking him to sleep.

* * *

"Well done, boys," Carolyn said, looking over the flight deck with a pleased air. "A successful flight, no diversions, and so far, no lawsuits for harassing commentary."

"One of them gave me a ten-pound tip, and one of them gave me this," Arthur chirped, pulling out something vaguely shaped like a fleshy rubber hand.

Carolyn sighed. "Yes, dear, that's very nice, let's find somewhere... appropriate for that...."

As they left, Martin turned to Douglas, feeling a rather smug grin cross his face. "You owe me fifty quid."

"Did one of my ancestors have a debt to one of yours in centuries long gone that was never properly resolved? I'll need some documentation."

"We had a bet."

"Yes, one that rather relied on you having some success at that gay bar. Which you did not. Hence, _I_ win."

"Ah!" Martin held up a finger. "Remember, full points required that I take a man from that pub back to my hotel room."

Douglas's eyebrows narrowed. "Martin..."

"And!" Martin interrupted. "You will note that a man, at that pub, bought me drinks - and came back to my hotel room with me." He turned to the instruments, starting the pre-flight checks. "He even undressed me. That should count for extra, shouldn't it?"

"That doesn't count!"

"Of course it counts! By the letter of our bet - you owe me fifty quid."

Douglas frowned at his own controls. "That's cheating."

"You're just upset because I finally won something!" Martin exclaimed gleefully.

Arthur walked into the cabin, catching the end of the conversation. "I say, skip - you didn't... sleep with Douglas, did you?"

"No!" Martin exclaimed, affronted.

"Oh." Arthur pondered that for a moment. "Too bad, it would solve a lot of problems, wouldn't it? I mean, you..."

"Arthur - another Hoover in the passenger cabin would solve a lot of problems vis-a-vis spilled glitter. Go to it, would you?" Douglas interrupted, smoothly.

With Arthur gone, and the sound of the Hoover whirring away in the background, Martin and Douglas finished the pre-flight checks.

"Douglas - would you really..."

"Martin, we will never speak of this again."


End file.
